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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

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Pragma(tic) Epilogue: The Gods Live On

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 3724

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 25: She Almost Murders Someone (Again)

The Winter Solstice Gala, held to celebrate the gods’ reign and usher in a new year, was upon you. It was only months after Bucky had moved in with you—the happiest months of your life.

Bucky was almost immediately integrated into the Underworld as fall set in just days after his promise after he ate those seeds and bound himself to the Underworld for half a year. This almost made it better. Having him with you always made it easier to get him acquainted with everything there was in the Underworld and train him in his new role.

You hardly had to do anything; he was a natural god of death.

“It’s because life and death are so alike,” he said one day as you lay in bed together, your head nestled in the crook of his arm as you both read books. “I just know how it feels. It’s easy for me.”

He was good at leading souls down, providing them with a comforting figure as they made the voyage from the Mortal World to the Underworld. He was good at putting them at ease and getting them down in one piece. And what he wasn’t good at, Clint was there to lend his aide.

That also allowed Bucky to grow accustomed to the Underworld.

He moved like he owned the place. He learned it inch by inch, grew as close to it as you did. He loved the place. He loved his home. It was amazing. You’d expected the dark and the death to have some effect on him, but there was nothing. He moved like he’d always lived there. It was beautiful.

His clothes joined yours in your closet. His toiletries took up residence in the bathroom. He claimed the left side of the bed and brought his own pillow to join yours. He made your home his own, living alongside you in perfect harmony.

It was blissful. You couldn’t believe your eyes every morning when you woke up every morning to see his face sleeping just inches from yours. You found it amazing that you could just swoop in and peck him on the lips whenever you wanted. You found it surreal that he would eat every meal with you and go on strolls around the perimeter of your kingdom whenever you wished. You found it beautiful that you could go to bed every night, holding him in your arms and fall asleep to the sound of his steady heart.

For four months you operated like this, growing accustomed to living together. For four months you saw few others. For four months you knew nothing but peace.

But, of course, peace must be broken.

Carol personally delivered the invitation.

The Winter Solstice Gala was to be held near the end of December on the shortest day and longest night of the year.

You had half a mind to decline the invitation as you had so many years before, but Bucky had accepted before you could put a word in.

“I think it’d be fun,” he later said when you caught him with an accusatory glare. “Besides…” His arms snaked around your waist and he buried his nose in your neck. “I want to see you in a regal dress.”

You couldn’t deny him so you ended up stuck in a scarlet gown, impatiently waiting at the bottom of your stairs for Bucky to finish getting ready.

You fiddled with the fabric of your dress. You had to admit that it was gorgeous. In the traditional ballgown style, it had a wide skirt that swept over the ground when you walked. Fabricated flowers covered the skirt and they crawled up the fabric. The corset top cinched at the waist, giving way for a slit to fall through your cleavage, accenting it just right without revealing anything. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, leaving your skin and collar bones exposed to the cool air. You wore no jewelry or accessory save for your golden crown that rested atop your head.

Your feet ached already. You didn’t like your heels. You didn’t really care much for this dress either, but it was required for such a gala. All the other goddesses would be wearing something similar and you refused to be the odd one out.

You huffed and shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Bucky!” you called up the stairs. “Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!” Unlikely, but you were desperate to get him out.

“I’m coming!” he yelled back. “I’m sorry, Doll.” His voice was growing louder. “This tie was giving me difficulty.” His footsteps echoed in the halls as he came to the top of the staircase.

You turned to face him and your heart stopped.

You’ve said it before and you’ll say it again: Bucky Barnes looks damn good in black. His suit was a midnight color, as dark as the night sky. His hair was combed back and gelled away from his face. His blue eyes pierced your soul and stole your breath away. You vowed to yourself then to burn every article of clothing he had that was not black.

He gave you a sheepish smile as he descended down the stairs. “You look gorgeous though.” He stopped a foot away from you and took both your hands in his. “Red really is your color.”

You had to peel your eyes off of his figure and snap yourself back to reality. Giving a flustered cough, you nodded. “Yes and… Er, black is your color also. You look good, Buck. Really good.” You could feel heat pooling beneath the skin of your cheeks as you averted your eyes.

He laughed at you and squeezed your hands. “Thank you. Now, shall we head out? I know we only have to teleport, but I don’t really want to wait in a long ass line to get in.”

“Sure! Just…” You mustered up your power and blinked. Opening your eyes again, you found yourself on the steps of the palace, surrounded by two dozen other gods and nymphs. Your ears were greeted with a muted murmur of excitement.

Everyone was dressed to the tens. Fancy gowns made your head swim with colors and elegant suits gave the night a sharpness you found enthralling.

Bucky nudged your side, gesturing up to the front doors where Queen Carol and Queen Maria stood basking in the light of the ballroom.

Carol looked splendid in her white gown, radiating power as she beamed down at the gathering of gods below. “The Winter Solstice is the time of year in which we gods toast to the new light ahead. On our darkest day, we are able to look forward to a time that will be brighter. The light will only grow on our great empire, shining bright for all to see. Now come! Let us be merry and dance!”

Short, sweet, and simple; just how you liked it.

Your sister and her wife made way for the other gods, allowing them to file into the ballroom.

You and Bucky fell towards the back of the line, slowly climbing your way to the palace. As you passed through the doors, Carol reached out and took your hand. Giving it a gentle tug, she smiled and nodded you in. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered as you passed.

You nodded to her, silently thanking her for the invite, before turning into the ballroom and joining the party.

It was already in full swing. The muses perched on a raised dais on the far wall and played their instruments with expertise. Their jaunty melody filled the air, spurring the gods around to join in dancing on the dance floor. The room was painted gold and midnight blue streamers fell through the air. Balls of magic cast the golden glow over the room. Hovering in the air, they cast dancing shadows whenever they moved. A long table filled with sweets, snacks, and drinks lined the side wall.

Of course that was your first destination.

You and Bucky seemed to be on the same wavelength as you both made a beeline for the food. Your mouth was already watering at the thought of the sweet ambrosia on your tongue.

Bucky laughed as he fell to a stop, picking up an ambrosia square. “We’re pathetic!” he cried, taking a bite out of it. “We could be dancing and instead we came for the food.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. “You know why? Because we’re smart. We can’t dance on empty stomachs. Besides, the food is best here on Olympus. I like the food in the Underworld but there’s just something about this that makes my heart happy.”

“True.”

“Just stay away from the pomegranates,” you warned. “I’m not having any more of that nonsense.”

“You got it, Doll.” He smirked as he popped the rest of the square into his mouth and turned for more.

You could’ve stayed there all night, but it wasn’t long at all before you were interrupted.

“I thought I might find you here,” chimed an amused voice from behind you. You could hear the smile in her words.

Both you and Bucky froze. Turning around slowly, you locked your eyes on Winnifred as she stood apart from you, her arms folded over her chest and her lips quirked up in a smirk. The green of her gown gave her an earthly glow, making the brown of her hair glow with life.

Bucky swallowed heavily. “M-Mother!”

“Hello, James. Hello, (y/n).” She bowed her head to you respectfully.

You nodded back. “It’s good to see you again, Winnifred.”

“And you.” She looked up at Bucky, her eyebrow cocked. “I haven’t seen you in months, James. I was beginning to worry.” Her words were prodding and filled with an unspoken question.

“Yeah… I’ve been spending a lot of my time down in the Underworld.”

“Ah, yes. I did hear about that. I can feel the death on you.” Her face screwed up in mild disgust. “You’re the new god of death.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was an accusation. She didn’t like it one bit.

You nodded. “He volunteered to take on the responsibility. I told him what it meant, and he still wanted it. Who was I to deny him?”

“I am not objecting,” Winnifred said, her voice calm and cold. “I acknowledge that my son is a grown man fully capable of making his own decisions.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Bucky said wrapping his arm around your waist. “I am very happy with my new role. Being the god of death is easy for me and I can do something for the mortals that matters.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t visit every once in a while,” she said with a teasing smirk.

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. He hadn’t told his mom about his situation.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“Actually… Funny story.” Bucky laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My new job requires that I… Uh… I have to stay in the Underworld for half the year. It’s mandatory, non-negotiable. So… During fall and winter I really can’t come to visit you.”

Her lips curled down in a frown. “And why not? I’d assume that even then you’d still be able to spare a day to come up and see me.”

“I can’t, Mother. I’m sorry.” He lowered his gaze. “I ate food of the Underworld. Six pomegranate seeds. I knew what it meant, and I still did it.”

You studied the goddess’ gaze warily, gripping Bucky’s arm and preparing to pull him away should she lash out.

Her face, however, was unreadable. She was silent for a few moments before she took a deep breath. “You swear that you weren’t tricked into eating it? You really wanted to be down there so badly that you decided to revoke your right to choose where you are?”

“I did. I do,” he confirmed, pulling you close to him. “I am happy there. And I can always come during the spring and summer. But for the cold months, I want to be down in the Underworld with (y/n). I made my own choice, and that is what I wanted.”

“Then I am happy for you.”

Her words made your heart stop and you searched her face for any ounce of sarcasm or anger.

You found none. A soft smile had overtaken her features as she looked between you and her son. “I am happy for the both of you, and I only wish you the best.” She nodded her head once more. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid that there are more people I have promised my attention to. I will see you in the spring, my son.” She curtsied to you before backing away and joining the ball.

You stood dumbstruck beside Bucky, your mouth agape. “What the fuck just happened?” you asked, your voice dripping with confusion.

“I think,” he said slowly, his voice tainted by a hint of uncertainty, “my mother just gave us her blessing.” He shook his head. “Whatever! I’m not going to question it!”

“Me neither!” You turned away from where she had gone and looked at Bucky, a wild laugh escaping your mouth.

“I think that’s all the crazy I need from the night. I’ll be checking in with her later to make sure she’s feeling well.”

“Probably a smart idea,” you laughed.

“Oh man…”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were cut off by the sound of a new song filling the air. The tune was slower than the last and gentle in the room. At once partners flooded the floor. Pairs of lovers held each other as they began to dance in time.

Bucky coughed into his hand as he looked out at them. “Seems like fun…” he mused softly, his eyes sliding to glance at you.

“It does,” you agreed softly, looking back at him.

He paused for a moment before turning to you and bowing. His hand extended for yours, giving you the chance to take it. “May I have this dance, my love?” he asked, his voice tender and kind.

You nodded as you placed your hand in his. “It would be my honor.”

His fingers curled around yours and he stood straight. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he walked you to the dance floor.

Gathering your skirts in one hand and grabbing his, you placed your other on his shoulder.

His warm hand grasped yours and his other found a home on your waist. Pulling you flush against him, he smiled down at you. “Just let me lead,” he mumbled as he began to pull you into a waltz.

A soft piano melody filled the air, the notes filling your heart with a slow tranquility. The world around you slowly melted away, leaving you with only him. The scent of him filled your nose—the freshest flowers and the richest earth. His body was warm in such a close proximity. His hand was strong. Nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

You stared up into his blue eyes. They never once left yours.

You traced every one of his features. You knew you’d never get enough of it.

You’d never get enough of him. Truly, he was the love of your life.

How had you gotten so lucky, you wondered as you waltzed around the floor. How had you managed to entrap this man—this god—and make him fall so deeply in love with you? How had you found him?

He really was the only one for you. You couldn’t believe you’d wasted so much time on those who were unworthy of your love. You couldn’t believe that a love like this actually existed.

You loved him. You really did. Where you had been strong before, you were stronger now because of him. You felt it every day when you woke up: the strength and power he gave you through his support.

A year ago, you wanted nothing to do with him.

But now you never wanted him to leave.

You squeezed his hand softly, pulling him closer to your body.

He squeezed yours and smiled in response, twirling you in place.

For hours you danced, letting him lead you in dizzying circles until he waltzed you out of the ballroom to a balcony that overlooked the city.

The music inside quieted to a dull hum and you and Bucky were left alone as the doors closed behind you of their own accord. You slowed to a stop before the marble of the railing.

He didn’t let you go. You didn’t want him to let you go. You basked in the other’s presence, simply enjoying the silence.

You decided to be the first to break it, mumbling three little words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed, his hand letting go of yours and cupping your cheek softly.

You leaned into him, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” you whispered in the night.

“For what?”

“For being with me. For never letting me go or giving up. I can’t imagine it was easy, knowing everything I put you through. So just thank you for everything.” You knew you’d never find the words to tell him exactly how much you appreciated him, but this would just have to do.

He pulled you close and rested his forehead against yours. “We’ve been through too much for me to let you go now, Doll.”

“I know we have. But I want you to know that I never want you to let me go. I love you too much.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” He fell silent for a bit, his brow furrowing in hesitation. “Actually… There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… It’s kind of a big question. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time, but I never knew when I’d catch you in the moment. I guess that now is as good a time as any, right?” He was nervous. You could tell it in the way his eyes wouldn’t stay in one spot for long and how he shuffled his feet. His hand dipped into his suit pocket and slowly pulled out a small, rectangular, velvet box.

Your breath hitched as your eyes glued themselves to the box. “Bucky…” Your voice was small and trembling, the lump in your throat keeping it from being anything more. Your heart pounded in your chest.

He shuffled his feet and passed the box in between his hands, the black of his palm swallowing the black of the box. His blue eyes found yours and held your gaze. “Look, I know that this probably isn't how you’d envisioned your life going—I mean, who could’ve predicted the Queen of the Underworld getting mixed up with some minor god of spring—but I couldn’t imagine my life any other way. I love you so, so much (y/n), and I want you in my life, to have and to hold, for forever. You will have me as long as the stars still burn in the sky. You will have me as long as man roams the Mortal World. You will have me as long as Olympus stands. You will have me as long as we both shall live. So…” He cleared his throat and slowly sank to the ground onto one knee. His hands held out the box as he stared up at you, his eyes begging. “Will you, (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, Queen of the Underworld, and the love of my life, do me the honor of becoming my wife—my beloved queen—and spend eternity with me?” He only then cracked open the box and your heart crawled up into your throat.

Staring up at you, encased in a band of black vibranium, was a perfect and raw ruby, red as blood and the size of a large pebble.

The stone was shockingly familiar and you were surprised you even recognized it. “Is that…?”

“It is.” His smile was bright. “It’s the ruby you threw at me all that time ago. Believe me, I can’t believe I kept it either. But I figured that there was nothing better to propose with than the first gift you gave me put into a band of my own creation.” At your bewildered expression, he smiled sheepishly. “I asked Tony to teach me how to make a ring so I could give you this. But that’s beside the point. I need to know what you say. Will you marry me?”

Staring down at him, you could picture the future. You could see your ring on his finger and his ring on yours. You could see the his-and-hers crowns. You could see two of everything as he only solidified his place in your life. You could see yourself waking up with him, eating with him, loving with him, doing everything with him. You could see him as a permanent part of your life, there forever more.

You could see him standing by your side as your husband and your king, ruling the Underworld together, bound by nothing but love and adoration. You could see him as yours, and you as his.

And it made you smile.

You wiped at the tears that were flooding your eyes and nodded. “Yes,” you said softly.

His eyes lit up as he looked at you hopefully. “Yes?”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”

He didn’t hesitate to slide the ring on your finger and stand to pull you in a hug. With his arms wrapped tightly around your torso, he kissed you and laughed into your mouth.

You held him as close as physically possible, just basking in him. “I love you,” you said again when you broke apart for air.

“And I love you. Always.”

Your heart was happy. You were happy. Knowing that Bucky was yours and yours alone filled you with something indescribable.

He loved you. You loved him. He was yours. You were his. And that was enough to make you happy.

Because now you had him for as long as you both shall live.

For all eternity in your very own happily ever after.

#pragma(tic)#hades and persephone #hades & persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the end

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asthora · 4 years

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Fruit

A fenhawke one shot I wrote based on a prompt a friend sent me! I am currently living in fenhawke hell and loving every minute!!!

They’re in Lowtown today looking for an Antivan merchant named Vincento. They find him in the bazaar selling odds and ends, broken plates of armor and dull daggers that make Isabela cringe. Hawke gets the information out of him easily, he’s not hard to startle, but it leads their search to a temporary dead end and Hawke is left standing in the street with her companions, watching as Vincento hurriedly packs up his pitiful wares and runs off towards the docks.

“Well,” Hawke sighs as she watches him scurry away. “That was helpful I suppose but Samson doesn’t come slinking out until after sunset. Should we head to the Hanged Man?”

“You know me Hawke,” Isabela says with a wink. “I’m always game to start drinking early.”

“Anders?”

He smiles his easy, gentle smile. “I could certainly go for a pint.”

“Only a pint, magey? What about a couple of shots and we see where you can put that staff of yours?” Isabela purrs, tugging on the collar of Ander’s coat.

He blushes and swats her hand away. “We’ve still got work to do, Isabela.”

The Rivani pouts. “All work and no play makes Anders a dull boy. What about you, Hawke? Up for shots and a bit of wrestling?”

“As long as we aren’t drinking rum I’m fine with whatever.” Hawke says, her eyes sweeping across the bazaar. “By the way, has anyone seen Fenris?”

Her companions shake their heads.

Hawke bites her lip and her hand twitches towards her staff. It’s midafternoon in Lowtown. Apart from the occasional pickpocket or footpad, Lowtown is normally peaceful during this time of day. It’s when night falls that you have to watch out for ambushes and bandits. She isn’t crazy, Fenris was just here. He’d been quiet the whole day, not very happy that she’d brought Anders along to find Feynriel, but he’d been by her side since early morning when they traveled to the alienage. It’s more likely he roamed off rather than some Lowtown cutthroat pulling him into the shadows.

Anders lets out a long sigh and leans against his staff. “I’m sure he’s just wandered off, Hawke. Probably to go piss in a corner like the dog he is.”

“Maker, Anders. Really?”

“Why don’t Anders and I head to the Hanged Man and you catch up when you find the pretty boy?” Isabela smiles, stepping between the two. “Sound like a plan?��

Hawke nods but she’s not really listening anymore, nor does she really care about Ander’s snide remarks. Isabela steers Anders in the direction of the Hanged Man while she scans the stalls again, looking for a familiar head of white hair among the midafternoon crowd. It’s hot today, even more so with the dozens of people who flit from stall to stall, and she sweats uncomfortably as she meanders through the crowd. Hawke checks the weapons stand first then the man who sells plated armor and robes. No luck.

She’s getting nervous now. Fenris never just wanders off. He’s quiet, sure, but he’s not one to just disappear into thin air without a reason. Hawke takes the steps up into the portion of the bazaar where vendors and shopkeepers sell spices, exotic fruits, brightly colored linens, and fresh meat. The smell here is different from the rest of Lowtown. That weird stretch that hangs over the city can’t seem to penetrate the aroma of cinnamon, incense, and cooking meat. She passes a vendor selling candles and body oils then another who’s handing out samples of whatever mystery meat he has roasting on a spit. She takes one and eats it, idly, as she shoulders her way through the throngs of people.

Finally, she sees him.

He’s tucked between a woman selling carpets and a family of dwarves hammering away at copper jewelry. Fenris is bent over a basket of fruit, something small and brown rolling around in his palm.

“There you are,” she says cheerily. “Thought I’d lost you to some Lowtown crime lord in the market for one glowy elf.”

Fenris glances over his shoulder. “I did not mean to worry you.”

She smiles, hoping it looks reassuring. “What did you find?”

He looks at his closed palm and frowns before opening his armored fingers to reveal a small brown fruit.

“What is this?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

Hawke laughs. “Why, it’s a kiwi. What, never seen a kiwi before?”

He shakes his head and Hawke feels a bit guilty for laughing. She hadn’t meant anything by it but Fenris’ look of bewilderment is just so...cute.

“And what is this?” He asks picking up a much larger fruit from the basket, this one in shades of red and yellow.

“It’s a mango,” she says. “Do they not eat fruit in Tevinter?”

Fenris shakes his head. “Danarius did not like foods like these.”

Hawke takes the kiwi from his palm and tosses it in the air. “Everyday I’m surprised by how much I can hate that man. Do you want to know a secret?”

Fenris looks up from the mango and nods. There’s a look of innocence on his face that makes Hawke’s heart beat fast in her chest. She leans in closer. He pulls back a bit but stops when he realizes she does not mean to touch him.

“When I first came to Kirkwall,” Hawke whispers. “I’d never seen food like this either. It’s not like mango trees and kiwi vines grow in Ferelden.”

He frowns again and looks back at the baskets of colorful fruit. He points to another, this one brown and fuzzy. “Did you know about those?”

“Coconuts?” She asks, following his finger. “I’d read about them in books.”

“Are they good?”

Hawke grins. “Do you want to try some?”

He nods and reaches for his coin purse but Hawke shakes her head. “I’m buying. Think of it as a thank you for saving my ass from that greatsword wielding bastard who almost cleaved my head in two yesterday.”

The corners of his mouth jerk as if to smile. “You should watch your right flank more closely.”

She shrugs. “I don’t have to if I’ve got you around.”

Maybe she’s imagining it, but Fenris’ cheeks turn pink. He looks away before she can be sure, once more bending over the baskets. She watches him sort through the different fruits, his careful fingers turning over mangoes and pomegranates, his touch gentle as if he is afraid the fruit might fall apart in his hands. She lets him pick whatever he wants and soon they have their own little basket overflowing with oranges, kiwis, pineapple, and a whole assortment of tropical fruits. She pays for it all like she promised, glad that he’ll at least allow her perform this simple act of friendship. Fenris doesn’t like actions he perceives as pity. Hawke wonders if this means he trusts her more, maybe thinks of her more as a friend rather than a raging apostate lunatic.

He tucks the basket under his arm proudly and Hawke’s heart does that weird fluttering thing again. Maker, she can’t be possibly falling for him, can she? That’s insane. Like he would share her affections anyway, he hates all things magic and she’s about as magic as they come save for Anders. But lately she’s noticed her cheeks growing warm when he smiles and a giddiness coursing through her veins when she sees him after several days away from the city. She hasn’t dared act on these feelings, afraid she’ll scare him off if she bats her eyelashes a little too hard. She wants him to know she’s a friend, not someone who feels sorry for him, not someone who wants to use him.

He surprises her when he gently touches her shoulder then points to an empty place on the steps. “Would you...like to sit down for a moment?”

Hawke nods. Her skin tingles where he touched her and she doesn’t trust her voice not to waver so she follows him to the stairs and sits beside him. She makes sure not to sit too close, but not too far away either. He seems comfortable, excited even, as he sets down the basket and grabs one of the kiwi.

“How do you eat it?”

“Well,” Hawke smiles, taking the fruit from his palm. “I normally cut it in half then scoop it out with a spoon but we can do this instead.”

She takes her dagger from her boot, thanking the Maker she decided to clean off the raider blood this morning, and peels away the thin skin. She glances up at Fenris as she cuts a slice. His eyes are wide in wonder.

“Here,” she says, offering him the slice off her dagger.

He has removed his spiked gauntlets so that his hands are bare. She marvels at his long tan fingers, his gentleness as he grabs the fruit. She has never seen his bare hands this close. The lyrium markings stretch down his fingers; white, silvery lines that she cannot help but think are beautiful despite their foul origin. He pops the kiwi in his mouth and his eyes go wide.

“It is good!” He announces, his lips stretching into a grin.

Hawke smiles and cuts herself a piece. “I think It’s one of my favorites.”

“It is sour,” he says, licking the juice from his fingers. “But also sweet.”

“We got a ripe one. Good eyes, Fen.” She says, bumping him playfully with her arm. She doesn’t realize what she has done until after several seconds pass and he has not leapt away from her sudden touch. He seems shocked at his own reaction as well, his fingers hovering over the kiwi she has offered him.

“I’m sorry.” She says, glancing up at him, under her lashes.

His fingers twitch as if coming back to life and he takes the fruit and chews it slowly. “You did nothing wrong.” He says simply.

The tension between her shoulder blades relaxes. “Do you...want to try something else? What about the orange? We can save the pineapple for later.”

He nods and wipes his hands on his trousers before reaching for the orange. He turns it around in his hands then offers it to her. “How do you eat this one?”

Hawke sets down her knife. “This one is easy. I’ll let you do it. Dig your fingernail in right there and then peel the skin back.”

“Here?”

Hawke raches out and with her own nail she makes a mark in the soft flesh. Her hand passes over his and her skin brushes against his own, the touch featherlight but enough to send electricity running down her arms. He flexes his fingers. Did he feel it too? She dares to look up at him, blue eyes connecting with green. That flush is back in his cheeks and Hawke realizes they are very close, so close she can smell him. He smells like leather and cloves and sweat. She takes a deep breath and holds it, committing the scent to memory.

Fenris blinks, his dark eyelashes fluttering. He rips his gaze away from her own, the action painfully slow. Her eyes linger on him for a moment longer before she looks back down at the orange. He begins pulling back the skin, the orange peel falling to the steps unceremoniously. He hands her a chunk of the soft fruit and they eat together. He smiles.

“It explodes in your mouth,” he says. “The juice is sweet.”

She nods. “We had oranges back in Lothering. They somehow could make the journey that far inland. If times were good Mother would buy enough oranges to make a pitcher of juice.”

His eyes go wide. “And that is good?”

“I honestly think it is better than the oranges themselves. I’ll ask Mother to make you some. We haven’t had it in awhile anyway.”

“That would be nice.”

He smiles softly and they finish the rest of the orange in silence. She feels their small moment coming to a close and she hopes there are more moments like this in their future. For once, Fenris is unguarded, happy. Again she finds herself damning Danarius, hating him with every fiber of her being. He took so much from Fenris. Can she help him create a life? A life that he can call his own, one without masters and bad memories? Will these small moments eventually turn into longer ones? Or will the pain she sees etched on his face refuse to leave him?

She feels his walls go back up as he slips on his guantlants and fastens the leather straps. Hawke clears her throat and wipes her hands down her trousers, trying to find that easy grin she plasters on her face for the rest of the world to see.

“I told Anders and Isabela we would meet them in the Hanged Man.” She says, standing to her full height and stretching her arms above her head.

“Was it a wise decision to leave them alone?” Fenris asks, his lips turned up in a slight smile.

“Probably not!” She says brightly. “We might have to peel their drunk asses off the floor of the barroom! At least Varric will be around to help.”

Fenris chuckles and tucks the basket under his arms. “If that is the case, then we must hurry before they are too far gone. Lead the way, Hawke.”

Hawke turns on her heel and heads back into the bazaar towards the Hanged Man where she is sure her friends have already found themselves in some sort of trouble. She glances over her shoulder, making sure she hasn’t lost him in the crowd. He’s close. Her eyes catch his own and there is a moment that passes between them that she doesn’t think can be mistaken for anything but longing. She turns her head before it can disappear. A smile breaks on her lips and she welcomes her fluttering heartbeat.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #fenris #hawke #fenhawke #fenris x femhawke #genevieve hawke #my ocs #this is very sappy and very fluffy i'm sorry

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

Text

From Eden

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, Work-place harassment

AO3 <<<Previous

Chapter 4

The staff on the upper level was being reshuffled today. This was an annual thing; it happened as the reproduction programme occasionally let greys change ranks, meaning certain positions had to filled and timetables changed. You didn’t have to worry about a lot, your position was permanent due to the speciality of your work. That’s what you thought anyway. “Y/N, my office please?” your manager had called. What was it this time? You got up and followed him, shutting the door behind you and taking a seat. “Is everything alright sir?” He hesitated a little before replying, “you are getting a promotion of sorts.” You looked confused. “The king has issued an order. He wants a personal garden on the 9th floor. Your track record is fantastic, so you will oversee the project and team. He has set some requirements that you’ll have to design around. Other than that, you have free reign basically, do what you want with it,” he finished. You sat there in shock. A personal royal garden that you were responsible for. One fuck up could be your demise. “I really don’t know what to say. I’m assuming I can’t turn it down.” He shook his head, “He wants the team to move down there too, so get packing. This afternoon, yourself and Lucy can go down and have a look at the space you have to work with and start getting some designs and plans down. You have all the resources available to you.” “when will we be moving?” “Tomorrow.” With that you were dismissed. //// “Hey Luce, have you ever seen what the king looks like?” You were on your delivery run to the 9th floor, where you’d be let in to see your project area. “no, I haven’t. But Sam did once, I think. I think he said something about him looking like a better version Michelangelo’s David,” she replied. You would describe ‘Adam’ in the same way. “Sam? Sam who then had to lick his boots then had his eye gouged out for ‘staring too much’?” She nodded. You had reached the delivery entrance. “Good afternoon Ms Mead, looking sexy as ever today,” you greeted. Her stoic face broke out into a little grin at your comment. “You’re damn right I look sexy. Anyway, leave the produce here, one of the staff will collect it. I’m sure you were told about your new job, so ill give you a tour,” she led you both in, swiping her special key card. You were nervous for some reason. Your survival depended on this. You gasped at seeing the inside of the 9th floor. It was dark and regal. Golds, blacks and reds. Marble polished to perfection. Priceless art pieces everywhere. This truly was the abode of a dark king. “Michael’s bust elsewhere so you don’t have to worry about seeing him too much,” Ms Mead clarified. Michael. The king’s name was Michael. You liked the way it tasted on your tongue. Repeating it to yourself a few times. You smiled to yourself, deciding that it was your favourite name. “Here we are, this is the space. Its right in the centre of everything.” She pointed to the circular marble stone in the centre, “You must build around that, but it’s all in the briefing and floor plans you were sent. I’ll come collect you in about 30 minutes. Do not wander off on your own,” with that final warning she let you be. You got closer to the stone. It was carved with deep channels in the shape of a pentagram. It must have been an alter of sorts. You’d assumed rituals would happen in dark spaces, but it seemed like the king wanted a sort of natural meditation space. One of the requirements was that’s the alter had to be surrounded by pomegranate trees. How very Hades of him. The tress cultivated in Eden were ancient, from Iran. You wondered how the family that had tended to them for generations felt on the day the trees were taken from them. Thousands of years of love and care could be tasted in the sweetness of the fruit, in the vibrancy of the dye the fruit created. Who had planted that first seed? What had those trees seen? Whose blood fertilised the soil? You felt it your duty to nurture those trees. And now you would have to part form some of them, it upset you a little, but you didn’t think about it too long, you had a whole other garden to plan. Mead eventually came to escort you out, needing to prepare for tomorrow. You gave instructions on beginning to remove the marble and the other structural changes that would need to be made for ‘little Eden’. The king had watched you leave from the balcony, smirking. //// Being a grey meant you didn’t have many belongings, so the room took you and hour to pack. You felt a little sad seeing it in three boxes. It had been your refuge for 5 years. A safe haven away from everything that went on outside of it. But for the past two weeks, even this safe haven had been invaded by outside forces. You dreams unnerved you. It was as if Adam had become a part of your unconscious mind. All you dreamed about was him. The pair of you in a garden, surrounded by little ones. But there were also snakes, a voice warning you to not bite the fruit. Catholic school didn’t prepare you for biblical dream interpretation. You tried to forget about them during the day, but all this talk of repopulation made it difficult. There were so many confirmed pregnancies, you wondered if you had the capacity for them all. It all reached its peak in February, everyone wanted Halloween babies, but so far there had been no Halloween babies. Your thoughts were interrupted by Lucy coming to get you. You gave the room one final look before handing the keys to the guard. A snake slithering out just before you shut the door. //// Your room on the 9th floor was closest to the garden, but furthest from anyone else. In order to save space, everyone was doubled up. Except for you. You had your room to yourself. It was a little lonely. But most of your hours were spent in the meeting room, discussing and finalising plans. Your final design had been approved; it was your dream garden, except for the alter in the middle. Work had begun; the marble removed, the piping for the water features in place, drainage and irrigation systems were ready and the artificial sunlight and temperature regulators were placed. All you had to do was plant and maintain. It was easier said than done, especially when a certain inspector liked to bother you. “Good afternoon Y/N,” Michael hummed from above you. You glared up at him, literally knee deep in dirt. “What do you want now? Was spilling my juice not enough for you this morning?” He had walked past your table that morning, knocking your drink from the table making it spill all over you. “There’s plenty of other things I could spill on you.” You scoffed and rolled you eyes at him, going back to checking roots and planting things. This was going to be a pond, everything had to be done before it was filled with water and koi. After five minutes, Michael got bored of watching you work. You were far too meticulous. But then again, this garden was for you, that’s why he let you design it. He imagined laughter ringing through the trees in a few years time. He’d get there. No, You’d get there. He wanted your full attention on him, so decided to be childish, throwing little rock off you and winding you up. “Oi! Pack it in! what are you? 9?” you still didn’t look up to him. “Yeah, Inches,” he replied. “Whatever you say,” you mumbled. He threw a bigger rock at your forehead this time, making you stop and finally look up at him. He watched your jaw clench in anger, and he laughed at you. You trudged over to him, stopping right Infront of him. You didn’t say anything, but he reached his hand out to help you out. Instead you pulled him into the mud. You turned back around to what you were doing, leaving him face first in the dirt, chuckling to yourself. Michael slowly got up, wiping his face. He hadn’t been this dirty since his sojourn. Had you been anyone else, you would now be a pile of ash, or in the dungeons for him to torture later. Instead he tackled you into the dirt. The pair of you broke out into a little scuffle, rolling around in the dirt. “Get off me! You’re too heavy!” you whined. His blond hair was now stained brown, your own grey uniform having the same fate. “No, I think I’m quite comfortable here,” he replied. “I’ll bite you; I’ll bite a whole chunk out of your face do not test me.” He grinned,” just like the bitch you are then.” You blew a raspberry at him, using your full strength to push him off you and to stand up. “My shift is over I’m leaving,” you turned to go. “At least help me clean up,” he pouted. “There greys specifically for that, I’m sure the king will let you borrow one of his,” with that you marched off, leaving the king in the dirt. //// You tracked mud through the hallway, wanting desperately just to clean up. “Y/N you look like shit,” Lucy pointed out. “I know,” you slammed your door open and closed. You peeled your overalls off and hopped in the shower. Watching the water turn from brown to clear. You had felt ‘Adams’ ‘Nine Inches’ when you were wrestling. You started to wonder how he’d feel inside you, the thought making you ache. You ran your hands down your body, to your wet folds, relieving yourself of the tension. You should have been more careful of your surroundings, you would have noticed the king watching you, relieving himself of his own tension.

Next>>>

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #FE4

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ghostladyofwinterfell · 5 years

Text

These (K)nights of Summer

A Modern Jonsa AU.

Summary: Sansa should have been having the time of her life celebrating graduation with her friends in Kingslanding.

But her parents have other plans, instead sending Sansa with her feral little brother to a run down camp in the North. All in an attempt to get their two unruly children straightened out.

Whatever, Sansa was not lost and this wasn’t about to be one of those stupid summers were she would embark on a journey of self-discovery. That was not her. No way.

But being there, in the heart of the North she starts to remember who she was before the likes of Joffrey had set his claws in her.

These were the nights were she found Jon, were she reforged her bond with Rickon and met people that were fierce and proud of who they were. These were the nights of summer.

Chapter One: Introduction

Sansa’s head was still pounding, the milk of the poppy vial had yet to kick in after the night’s slumber party with Margaery.

They had pestered her older brother Garland, to buy them a bottle of peach schnapps with added frilly umbrella's, that they had drunk in less than twenty minutes.

Later, after sipping on a pink concoction of Margaerys making with a cocktail stick full of sweet Morella cherries, they had giggled their way down to the cellar to pop open a bottle of Arbour Gold champagne.

They often didn't need a reason at all for these nights, but they had gone all out just the two of them. In celebration at them both finishing high school a few days ago and breaking up for the summer.

Well that was what Margaery was celebrating for, Sansa on the other hand, was knocking back drinks to avoid her problems. Everything seemed better in a champagne haze.

They had gone back to Margs' room with a full glass and played games that had gotten more of an edge to them the more they drank.

It didn't matter if it was just the two of them, because whenever you had Margareys attention on you, your night was made. She just had that aura around her. She was the blooming rose in the centre of any room she was in and even Sansa couldn't help but gravitate towards her.

The last thing she remembered was revealing all about her first kiss and all the juicy details about her breakup with Joffrey during truth or dare.

It was only as her head hit the plump pillow and her eyes were slowly closing that a thought flashed through her mind. In the six months she had known her, Margaery had never let slip any real truths about her or her family, not like Sansa had.

Sure Margaery had come to her whispering that she had a secret she could only share with her, Sansa was sure her face would light up at that, but it was never anything deep or a hard truth like Sansa would share about Joffrey.

She'd pull her close, whispering in the shell of her ear, "Can you keep a secret Sans. I've had a crush on our sociology professor and its gotten so bad I'm going to do the 'drop the pencil on the floor trick' to see if he stares at my ass."

But they weren't really secrets. Yet Sansa had peeled back all the layers of herself to Margaery hoping for her approval.

So awaking at 7:15 to six missed calls from her mother, she knew she could no longer avoid her problems. So after downing a glass of pomegranate juice and the vial that had been left by the staff, she whined before finally plucking up the courage to call her mother back.

Before she could even hear the first full dial tone her mother had picked up. Obviously having her phone glued to her hand ready.

Oh I am in so much trouble, she cursed to herself.

“Jory is waiting outside the Tyrell town house. You are to go down immediately and get yourself into the car and come home young lady-" her mother’s tone was clipped, "and do not forget to thank the Tyrells for their hospitality.”

“Marg says she’ll help me to book a train home in two or three days after our shopping trip. It’ll take less time than getting back by car,” Sansa didn't like to plead, but desperate times and all that. Two more days in the sun and shopping sounded more marvellous to her than going home.

She heard Rickon screaming in the background before her mother sighed heavily, “It wasn’t a question. A car has already come to collect you once Sansa. So to the car, now.”

She wished for her mothers warm comforting tone to greet her with the way she had been feeling the last few months, but she guessed she deserved it really.

She put her phone and the rest of her things in her bag after hearing the abrupt end beep. She pouted knowing not to go against her mother’s words, instead walking over to the bed and shaking Marg’s shoulder.

“I have to go. Mum’s brought another driver to come pick me up,” she whispered it so softly, wanting to wake her gently so they could say goodbye.

But Marg just rolled back over, pulling the sheets over her head and giving Sansa a sleepy ‘mmphh’ in response.

Well, I'm was clearly going to be missed.

She dresses quickly, grabbing a croissant from the tray and made her leave before shouting a quick ‘thanks for having me’ over her shoulder. Can't forget that hospitality her mother had instilled in her.

Jory’s eyes kept flicking to her in the mirror and they were the eyes of disappointment. She slunk further in her seat, licking her fingers of the almond glaze that had filled the pastry and sighed heavily.

She knew they would be the same eyes she’d see from her father when she returned home.

He’d left her a voicemail yesterday- her eyes filled just thinking about it now. Her father wasn’t one to show emotion often, yet he had pleaded with her to come home all the same and that he could help her with whatever was wrong. Instead she had chosen to just ignore him. As she had ignored them for the past several weeks and even after the incident happened which they had helped her fix.

It was noon when they had pulled up at the services, choosing to grab a bite to eat at the Crossroads café. She was flicking through her phone when she saw it, Marg’s new Instagram post. A picture of her and the bunch of friends from Kings Landing High- Joff and the rest of his footy guys included as well.

It was the caption that ticked her off, ‘Ready to kick off summer with only the best people’.

She couldn't help but scoff aloud as she scrolled through her last texts with Marg hoping she’d missed one from the morning off of her, she had not. She rolled her eyes chucking her phone in her bag moodily as Jory raised his brow at her.

“Girls. The teenage kind,” she huffed in reply. Jory chuckled, “Enough said then”.

She moved her lunch around the plate some more, all before finally giving up and pushing her tray away, after losing her appetite.

“Head to the car and I’ll go get us something sweet from the bakery. Is lemon still your favourite?” Jory asked. "Yep. But can I also have something with chocolate in it to. A lot of chocolate," she spoke before taking the keys.

Sweet treats would give her back an appetite and Margaery Tyrell clearly wasn’t worth giving up lemon cakes for. Although, she supposed she could message her first, but she didn't want to seem needy, Joffrey said it was a disgusting trait.

The closer they got to the Stark Estate in Winterfell the more the feeling of dread seeped further into Sansa’s bones. Worst case scenario, her parents would ground her for life, even though she was about to turn eighteen in less than a month.

She was 50% positive that Margaery might come up for a week in the break and see what the North had to offer.

She could picture it so clearly. Marg's distasteful gaze at the cloudy days filled with cold winds that occurred here even in the height of Summer. Maybe she was like 25% sure she might come up here to see her.

She turned to look at Jory again, "How much trouble am I in?"

She hated that. Asking how much trouble She would be in, Sansa was never the one to be in trouble.

She had tried so hard and for so long to be the golden child. Until she realised she never was or never would be in her parents eyes. It may have also been the same time she visited her aunt Lysa in Kings Landing for New Years. Where she had bumped into Joffrey and decided she would badger her parents to death unless they transferred her to Kings Landing High to finish out her senior year.

"They were worried Sansa-" he paused giving her a sad smile, "we all were". She turned her head sharply to stare at the hedges that lined the private road, which lead to the Stark Manor, in case they tears brimmed over. She didn't mean to let anybody down and make them worry. She hadn't meant to do a lot of things lately.

They reached the wrought iron gates at half past five and the sky was already starting to turn a deep blue. Jory gave her a sheepish glance and a ‘good luck’ before driving round to the garage once she'd left the car.

She nervously headed to the door up the cobble path that was illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns in the lawn. She huffed to herself, here she was admiring the stupid lawn lights so she could reach the door even slower to face her fate.

She doesn't know what has happened to her. Who doesn't want to come home to their loving parents after being away at school for near on five months. Gods, how could it have been a whole five months since she's been home and three months since she'd seen any of siblings.

Another driver just begins to pull into the large front drive way, its light shining on the door handle for Sansa to grab at.

The words, Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, are the only thing repeatedly flashing through her mind as she see's what greets her as she enters into the foyer.

Her father and mother are both sporting judgemental glares and she wishes the floor would swallow her up.

But she can't deny how much she has missed them, even if they don't look pleased with her.

They don't do what she expects, there's no scolding, at least not yet anyway. Her mother simply calls out for Rickon, who comes bounding through to them with Bran wheeling behind them. She steps back to avoid being caught in the whirlwind that is her little brother, as he launches himself at their father.

She thought they were supposed to have grown out of this silliness by eight, or was he nine now she wasn't too sure, she had already been four when she stopped this nonsense.

Her heart ached to see both of them though, her little brothers who she used to help take care of when they were babies as if they were her dolls.

She remembers her mother laughing down at her when she had once tried to put a new born Bran in her own little dolls pram to walk him around the house.

How times had changed things between them, or maybe she had just allowed distance and Joffrey to. She felt splintered from them all, and it had seemed like the hardest thing in the world these past few months to just simply call them up and ask for help.

It's her mother who breaks their silent stand off, "Your bags are all ready and the cars waiting outside."

Wait.

Her mother was looking at her when she said that and gestured to several of her old suitcases waiting by the door.

She had just gotten here, they had brought her all the way home and now what, packed her bags for her to go again. Gods, parents were so confusing.

"Yay, yay, yay!" Rickon screams as he comes over to her, pawing at her coat to drag her over to where she see's his cases as well, which are parked up right next to hers.

"The drivers here to take you both." To say her mother was not from the North she certainly had the ice cold stare and voice down to a tea.

"To take us where?" She starts gnawing on her bottom lip. She doesn't like not knowing what was going on, why were they going in a car with suitcases and a driver she didn't know?

"We've decided to let you both go on a little holiday-" Sansa eyes brighten at that, all until her mother quietly mumbles out the last bit, "camping."

What on earth would make her mother think that Sansa wanted to go camping. She was clearly not outdoorsy and everyone knew it.

"Let us. You mean make us. I'm not going. And why is it just me and him?" Great she was home for all two minutes and in a sour mood.

Why couldn't they just yell how disappointed they were in her, then she could yell back, run up to her room to slam her door and then be left in peace.

"Hey, I wanna go and I wanna go now!" Rickon began to shout out, as he pulled his suitcase over to the door and opened it.

"Shut up Rickon, the grown-ups are talking," she hissed at him.

"No. You shut up." That made her stand up straight in shock. Her eyes flicked over not to Rickon but to Bran at the outburst.

He never yelled and never at her. "Won't you just shut up. You're so ungrateful, don't you think I would love to go there. But look at me, I can't, but you can. So just shut up and go," he started to tear up at the end, she didn't know from sadness or anger.

And it was because of her. She didn't know how to talk to him after the accident. She felt the guilt eat away at her again as he wheeled himself off down the hall. She should go after him and apologise, but she doesn't.

Her mother bends down and kisses Rickons forehead, she gives Sansa a sad smile as she says goodbye and goes after Bran.

Her favourite child, not you, the voice hisses in her mind darkening it. Rickons fidgeting urges her father into motion, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it if you let yourself."

Sansa cuts him a sharp look, what did he even know about her anymore. He shows her some mercy even at her harshness, "Don't worry, it's not the kind of camping in a tent. You'll be staying in a lodge by the lake, having bbq's around the camp fire-"

She gasps out suddenly, interrupting him. Dorne, they where going to Dorne. She wanted to squeal out in joy.

How spending a couple weeks in the summer at the Water Gardens in Dorne was a punishment she didn't know. But they had actually done something incredibly right and cool for a change.

She tells him just that.

"Its for the whole summer Sansa and it's not at-" She interrupts him again and he doesn't look happy, but its her birthday plans that have been ruined.

"But I'll be there for my birthday, I want to celebrate with Margaery and the girls. She promised me a big party at her home in the Reach," she's pouting like a two year old but she doesn't care.

She'd even start stamping her foot if she had to.

"Well, plans seem to change don't they. You'll do this for us after what happened," he gives her a pointed look.

Well, she couldn't argue with that. She agrees quickly so no further mention of the incident can be brought up.

"Fine. I suppose Marg probably won't mind meeting me somewhere else for my birthday for some sun, lakes and bbq’s. It should be fun away from you two nagging me all summer."

Oh, she's disappointed him again.

She sees her fathers eyes tighten up at her admission.

Her own widen in shock. She upset him. She didn't mean to, she doesn't want to hurt anyone, but she knows she won't apologise. Nobody said sorry to her when they did it.

"You best get going. You have a while in the car yet, here I'll help you with your bags."

Once they're ready and getting in, Rickon squeezes her father tightly before leaping in and snapping up the leaflet, all while excitedly yapping on about the things they’re going to do.

Her father turns to her, but she gives a simple goodbye and quickly jumps into the car, slamming the door shut. She shoves Rickon over into the back of the seven seater car, so she can have the whole of the middle to stretch out.

She doesn't turn her head towards her father, even as she feels his sad gaze burning into the side of her face.

After a few moments, he pats the side of the car to signal the driver to go and wishes them a safe trip.

As they pull away, she turns to look at him. Her eyes fill with tears as they both stare at each other. They both seem to watch the other all the way down their long driveway, even when their faces get too small and they began to blur.

She drowns Rickon out when he starts yammering on, she's good at that, she's had a lot of practice from blocking out Joffrey when he starts to rant at her.

He flits from one thing to another, hands flapping like the wings of a hummingbird. He'd chucked the leaflet on the floor and had started ripping all of his things out of his bag to get at his sticker book.

She scrolls through her social media before texting Margaery to inform her of the utter misery that has befallen her. She hovers over the messaging app for several minutes hoping to see the three dots appear for a reply.

No one from Kingslanding high had reached out to her since Joffrey and the whole debacle that had happened after.

She'd gotten through about half of Hoziers album, letting the deep timbre of his voice lull her, when she catches one of the road signs.

They were heading the wrong bloody way.

She informs the driver rather impolitely she knows, but hey she's tired.

He tells her that they're not. Their destination is North he tells her, not South.

The cogs in her mind begin turning before everything clicks into place. She launches her upper body over the back seat and stretches her arm out for the leaflet, bringing it over to her so she can get a closer look.

'A Knights Camp'. A rustic and rural experience in the heart of the North for children and teens to get back into nature. Have fun exploring the famous Wolfswood and adventuring on the Long Lake, push yourself further and learn new skills under trained Camp Instructors.

She feels as though she's swallowed a bee.

Well then. All the visions of herself sunbathing on the golden sands, of exploring the ruins of SunSpear and dipping into the Water Gardens to cool off slowly began popping in her mind.

Her phone had no signal. It didn't stop her from redialling every time the call failed to try and get in touch with her parents.

How could they do this to her. She felt bitter tears gather in the corner of her eye, so she clenched her jaw closed. She was so tired of being upset all of the time.

She crumples the leaflet up in her other palm, sick of looking at the dreary state of the place in each one of the photos.

The camp was hardly popular. Not for people south of the Neck anyways. Sure northern children and teens often went their out of school term time, but not someone like Sansa. It taught things like how to start a fire, why the hell would she need to do that. There fun adventure days were things like hiking and fishing, as if she'd be caught dead doing that.

The people she grew up had actually found things like that fun, it was popular among the children of WinterTown High.

The people of the north were weird though. And she clearly took after her mother, who thought her twice a week yoga sessions meant a hard core fitness regime.

The people of the south viewed it differently, many using it to send their wayward children so they could be rid of them for the summer.

And by the old gods, did that make Sansa and Rickon like them. That's why they were going wasn't it, so her parents could be free of them and they'd get straightened out by the camp guards.

Every year Walder Frey often sent a whole army of children and grand children to use the camp as a babysitting service.

Or in case of the Tarly’s, who had sent their son Samwell many years ago in hopes of curbing his eating habits and to toughen him up. She remembers because his brother Dickon had told her at a college party and she hung on his every word.

She turns to Rickon as he begins talking, just not to her but at one of his games. He has the contents of his bag is all over the back seat, a colouring book with scribbles from when he got bored and stickers all over the roof of the car. Sansa sees the shine of stickiness on his face and fingers from the bag of sweets he’s devoured, least he’s being quite tapping away on his computer.

Its only two hours in and things went downhill, she thinks its lucky she's had peace for this long.

Rickon's moaning because his stupid computer is out of charge, he has no pages left to colour because he scribbled all over them and there's no snacks left.

She can't help but snap at him. She knows why she's being a bitch, Margaery's text had come through when she had gotten a few bars on her phone finally.

Marg: Poor you, having a drink for you, talk soon xxx

Maybe she was being a bit irrational, she doesn't know why she expects a bit more from her. She was too busy pre drinking and getting ready for a party from all the pics she had been posting.

Rickon looks at her tearfully and she sees the tiredness in his eyes. “I'm sorry," he mumbles out through a yawn.

She can't help but soften at him, she was seventeen and couldn't keep it together and he was only eight- or nine.

“It’s okay Rickon, I’m sorry as well. It's just because I'm tired, you look tired too." She gives him a soft smile, hoping to stave of any upset.

She thinks that although he's probably excited to be going camping for the whole summer, it didn't mean he wasn't missing their mother and father already.

"I'm not tired," he pouts out.

She laughs, looks like sticking ones bottom lip out at their displeasure is a shared trait.

"Okay, whatever you say. How about you come here for a snuggle though?” She knows it will help Rickon, but it'll help her to. It had been too long since someone she loved had shown her affection and if she wasn't so stubborn she could have gotten one from her dad when they left.

Rickon huffs like he doesn't want to, but then unclips himself and kamikazes over the seat.

She belts him up again and lets him lean against her as she strokes his hair. Its not even a full five minutes when she can hear soft snoozes fall from his lips.

She wakes him softly when they arrive, trying not to poke the sleeping bear too hard.

She can see he's about to whine until he looks out at their surroundings.

She wishes she could see this through his eyes, maybe these dilapidated wooden huts looked like castles to him and the dark shimmer of a murky lake looked like the mouth of the deepest sea.

Once they are out with all their bags and cases a figure approaches from the main lodge.

Her hearts in her throat when she see's who it is.

Jon Snow. Robbs best friend, who has grown up with them all since they were babies. Her first kiss.

She blushes just thinking about it, the whole thing had been embarrassing. Not the kiss, the kiss had been sweet, what happened after was not. Her fragile, just turned sweet sixteen year old self had barely recovered.

Rickon is more than overjoyed for the both of them and quickly runs to him, trying to tackle him down by his legs.

They greet each other like long lost brothers.

She greets him like an enemy.

He looks to her smiling, she remains with her arms folded and chin raised.

"The cases are in the boot, I need to make a call," she walks away sharply, her hair whipping around to her other shoulder.

"Phones need to be handed over, you get access to them at the weekend." He never did take her shit.

"Don't worry it's just one call," she thanks her father for her stubbornness. But she won't be giving him thanks in a minute.

She stares out at Rickon as she listens to the ring. He'd wondered over to the sloppy mud, stirring it up with his hands until they were caked.

See, this is the kind of crap she didn't sign up for. Rickon needed a leash and she needed to be sunbathing in the South for summer.

"Yes Sansa?" the voice on the other end is airy and sickly sweet.

Oh damn, its her mother who answers her fathers phone. Catelyn Stark was fierce and she didn't crack in her resolve. There would be no pleading or begging to her in hopes she'd get to come home.

So she did the only other thing she thought she could do. Lash out in hurt and anger.

“You sent us off here. Well here I was thinking you’d actually cared sending us to the Water Gardens for the break, I bet you and father had a right laugh-" she doesn't even pause for a breath in case her mother answers back, "that’s it, ship your moody teen and uncontrollable child to the end of the world so you don’t actually have to deal with us now that we’re home. What great parents.”

Her mother doesn't respond for a long time, which makes it worse as it gives her time to digest all of the horrible things she said. It also allows her a moment to stare at Jon's shocked expression towards her at what she'd unleashed upon her own mother.

“I’m sorry if that’s how you see this Sansa. I hope you’ll change your mind and give it a try. We know the rules, so we hope to hear from you at the weekend. Now its late, you and Rickon get to bed. Me and your father love you both.”

She hates it that her mother sounds so understanding, she shouldn't be, Sansa was being awful and they all knew it.

She sniffles out loud with her reply, "Okay."

She shuffles over to Jon, handing him her phone. He gives her her cases as he takes Rickons and escorts them to their own cabin.

She's thankful its a private one, with two single beds and a shower just for them. She doesn't think she has it in her to handle a communal cabin.

She shouts at Rickon to stay over on his bed when he starts getting mud everywhere. She sighs heavily, this is what happens when you get lumbered with an eight year boy who was a wild savage at heart.

She pulls her cases on her bed, rifling through them for thick socks as her teeth chatter in the cold air of the cabin.

She looks over as Jon squats down at their fire place, after a few moments there's a small flicker of a flame and she sends a blessing to the gods for his kindness as the heat begins to fill the small space. He adds enough logs to see them through most of the hours of the night.

He helps lift Rickons case on his bed, telling him to get his muddy jacket off as he explains to her that they'll have to do it themselves from now.

"Do what?" She says dumbly, but her brain is too tired to try to make connections right now.

"Chop your own wood and light a fire."

She's had it. She's too tired and pissed at everyone and Jon thinks now is a good time to shovel more shit onto her plate. "Gods, what is this some slave labour camp."

"Its a skill you need to keep practising whilst your here and it helps to teach some independence," he's trying to be understanding with her but she can hear a slight sharpness in his tone.

"I don't think I like being independent," she states matter-of-factly as she sits down on her creaky bed.

She thinks she may fall asleep right then and there, but Rickon has other ideas as he launches the dollop of mud he still had in his hand right at her face.

All she can do is sit there as she feels a blob from her cheek drop onto her jeans, Rickon has the decency to look scared as she stares at him and Jon tries to hide his laugh in a cough.

Jon takes pity on her tired and now dirty form as he tells her to wait a few minutes for the shower to warm up.

She rises slowly and goes to the shower room just up from their beds. She looks at her tired reflection in the mirror, until that voice begins to stir in her mind pointing out how horrible and dark her bags look.

She brushes her teeth and takes her meds, hoping her usual nightly routine will help bring some normalcy to her.

While she washes, Jon stays with Rickon to help him get wiped up a bit and to sort through his things.

Once she's freshly clean and in her pyjamas she feels marginally better and is all smiles as she enters the room thanking Jon for his help as she see's Rickons already changed.

Its late he can shower in the morning, Jon says and she rushes to agree, to worn out to even think about having to help Rickon.

She hears her phone ping as she receives a text and goes to get it from her bag until she realises that she doesn't have it at all, its in Jons pocket.

She gives him a pleading look through her long lashes.

"One minute," he tells her sternly as he hands it over.

She wished she'd never bothered.

After all she'd told Margaery about Joffrey, after all she'd seen, there she was in the photo with her arms all over him. And it was him who had sent it.

Joffrey: I'll pretend she's you.

She shuts it off quickly, giving it back and says how tired she is, as she tries to keep horrid memories from springing up.

Jon bids them both good night, saying he'll be here in the morning to wake you them for breakfast.

As he closes the door he turns back and mouths to her, "Is everything okay?"

She nods and tries to smile, it doesn't reach her eyes and she knows she hasn't convinced either of them.

Jons face has fallen and he looks as though he's about to come back inside again, so she quickly gets under the covers and turns away from him.

The door clicks shuts after a few seconds.

Rickon is fast off in dream land and now she's left with her own thoughts which go swirling in her mind at a mile a minute.

She's glad her and Joffrey are done, how many nights had she prayed for it to be over, but it didn't stop that voice in her mind. Am I so easy to replace? And Margaery, she had said they were sisters and had fumed at how vile Joffrey was. How could she do that to me? Did she even care for me at all?

She wishes she were home. In her bedroom at Winterfell, falling asleep in her old flowery blanket knowing she was safe with a house full of Starks.

She goes to sleep in a strangers bed, in a place she doesn't know, with his voice echoing in her mind. You stupid girl.

And she was, too stupid to even realise that there would be consequences to her actions.

Of course they sent her North. She wanted to laugh at herself, as if she thought they would ever send her to Dorne.

This was a family place. Her father had come here with his siblings as a boy, Robb had come here with Jon and even Arya had been the past few years before getting that summer sports scholarship for Bravos this summer.

Sansa drifts off uneasy, but that had been the way for the past few months now.

She dreams about lions chasing her though the woods that night. She gets caught in the bushes and snagged on it's thorns. The lion puts his heavy paw on her chest and she cries out. She feels its heated breath on her face as its jaw opens. She knows its going to eat her, but then something stops it. Something saves her, albeit temporary, from being devoured right that second. The lion gets distracted at the howl of a wolf getting closer to them. She hears its panting breath as it rushes forward, drawn to her cries, she see's the trees part for it as it comes-

The knocking on her door rips her from her slumber. She's still feel half asleep as she stumbles to the door opening it to reveal Jon smiling at her.

A/N- I hope those who have read this far have enjoyed it and there aren’t too many mistakes. Sansa seems a bit bitchy at the moment, but she has her reasons which I hope you have seen hinted at a little bit here.

I hope to update this again next week.

@lovelifelovebooks

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #jonsa au #jon and sansa #jonsa fanfiction #These (K)nights of Summer #jonsa ao3

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azkaabanter · 7 years

Text

Next Time (Solangelo)

This is a smut fic filling the request of @bailci hope you like it!

Between 2,000 and 4,000 words. Rated M —–/////—–//////—–/////—–/////—–

Dark. Dark dark inky dark all around. Shadows hug my aching sides. The blackness tenderly touches my bleeding skin. God, even my eyes hurt, which makes no sense.

Well, I mean I guess it kind of does, when you consider that I’m traveling through basically a wormhole of darkness and trying not to pass out from exhaustion. I focus hard, squeezing my aching eyes closed.

‘You’re almost back, Nico.’ I think hard, trying to keep myself conscious. ‘Don’t you fucking quit now when you’re so close’ I scream in my head.

Now, I bet you’re wondering what in Hades happened to me. Well, let’s just say one teenager against a horde of monsters is not an easy fight, no matter how many undead soldiers you can conjure up.

My head is pounding, and my heart is beating so fast that I can feel it vibrating in my chest. I’m almost there…

With one final burst of energy, I pop (there really is no better word to describe my entrance) out of the deep shadow of the big house. I remain standing for a holy half second, before crumpling to the ground in a bloody heap.

My breathing is labored and shallow, and the agonizingly deep and long cuts in my skin throb angrily. If I’m completely honest, I’m not sure how I’m even still alive, let alone conscious.

I drop my head to the ground and close my eyes, trying to block out as much of the pain as I can. Gods, I don’t even have the energy to call for help!

I can hear the other campers walking around; the laughter of friend groups, the clash of swords in a tight spar, and the unmistakeable splash of Percy entertaining the younger campers with his water powers. But they’re too far.

And I’m bleeding out.

I almost summon an ironic laugh. After all I’ve been through in my 16 (normal) years of life, is this seriously how I’m going out? A solo battle and being too far away to call for help? I let out a breath, and I utter a small sound. Pretty much a pained moan. It’s all I can do.

“Did anyone else hear that?” A voice says. My eyes snap open. Someone is close by.

“I think so…” Another voice exclaims. Both are female and sound young… maybe twelve or thirteen.

I can hear their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel, being cautious, as every demigod should be.

I’m focusing on them. I’m focusing so hard on their nearing footsteps that I almost miss the taste of metal filling my mouth. But then, it starts building.

My mouth is filling with blood, and I’m panicking. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. I try to bring my hands up to claw at my throat, and find myself unable to move them.

‘Oh Gods. Oh Gods-’ I think frantically as the red liquid spills over my lips and dribbles down my chin. ‘is this it?’ The thought has barely crossed my mind when a shrill scream permeates my ears.

I’m nearly choking on my own blood by the time I hear one of the girls yell-

“Get Chiron, now.” She says, before I slip into a complete daze, almost like my death trance. It’s cloudy and misted in my mind when I feel the vibrations in the ground of Chiron’s hooves galloping over to the back of the big house where I lay. My vision swims from hazy to clear as he lifts me gently into his arms.

“Get Will. Now. Hurry!” I hear him say, but it sounds far away, as if he’s speaking to me through a phone…

I can taste the savory flavor of ambrosia when we enter the infirmary. The familiar taste of a pomegranate tart is dulled by my senses.

After about ten minutes and a dangerous amount of ambrosia, my vision clears finally, and my mouth has stopped spilling blood. My wounds are still shedding crimson onto the sterile white sheets without holding back. I can’t move, but out of what is in my field of vision, I can make out the bustle of healers around me.

I look desperately for Will, but he’s nowhere in sight.

An IV is put into my arm once I reach my ambrosia and nectar limit to keep me alive, but I don’t know how much it’s going to help. I feel pretty beyond saving at this point.

“Where is he?” I hear a shout come from outside of the room, probably in the hallway. Everyone in the room stops moving, until the door is thrown open.

In the open doorway stands Will, his blonde hair messy, and his blue eyes sparkling with determination and fear. He looks around for just a moment, before his eyes lock on me and widen. “Nico-” he whispers, sprinting to my bedside and taking my hand. Just his presence is enough to help me through the pain. He looks at me with eyes full of seriousness and worry. “what the fuck did you do to yourself” he asks me, dead serious. I’m a surprised by his use of language; Will doesn’t curse much.

“A-a m-m-missio-n” I croak out in a jumble of stuttered syllables. His eyes harden.

“And you went without telling anyone…” He looks at me hard in my brown eyes, and I melt, right then and there, into his heartbreaking smolder. “not even me…” He grips my hand tighter, and I wince from not his grip, but from collective pain.

He sits straight up when I do so, startling me. He stands up, and over me.

“Guys, clear out for a few hours. Let me take care of him.” Will says to the other medics in the room. They all nod and head out, trusting Will completely with me, knowing that with him in charge, I will do more than just pull through.

As soon as the other people leave the room, and the door is shut, Will walks straight over to it. For a terrifying second, I think he’s going to leave me, before I notice that he’s just locked the door and is walking back to me.

Strange, but I’m in absolutely no place to question him seeing as I’m literally dying.

“W-why did you lock the d-door?” I ask him, some strength returning to my voice from the efforts of the ambrosia and nectar. He just walks over to me, and pushes my black hair out of my eyes.

“Because I don’t want anyone walking in-” he says, staring at me with a look so powerful it makes me almost have to look away. He takes some more steps towards me, and hovers over my bedside, a gentle, caring smile on his beautiful face. “Healing is personal. Especially with someone you love.” He says it casually, but my eyes widen at the words. He… loves me?

Before I have time to contemplate though, a sharp stab of pain rips through my body, and I reflexively arch my back, gritting my teeth and letting out a strangled gasp.

“F-fuck!” I stutter, and Will gets right to work.

I can see why he locked the door when he starts peeling off my bloodstained and slashed shirt, showing him the bone-deep gashes all over my chest, stomach, arms, and even… below my navel.

My face heats up for no reason when his eyes travel over my pale, exposed bloody skin.

‘He’s just doing his job-’ I find myself thinking.

“Okay. I’m going to put my hands on you, and heal you. You may have some scars or minor scabbing over left from the deepest wounds-” he cuts off taking a deep breath and looking at me, yet again, straight in the eye. “but I’ll do my best.” I nod to show that I understand, but my voice isn’t working.

He places his warm, steady hands on my chest and stomach; one over my heart, and the other over my belly-button. He presses down lightly, though I feel no pain from his touch. Suddenly, a soft golden light starts to emit from his hands, warming my whole body and numbing all pain.

I find myself having to hold back moans because of how amazing it feels to be healed by Will; I can feel my strength returning, and my skin regrowing. My wounds are scabbing, and some are even completely disappearing.

Way too soon, Will has taken his hands off my torso, panting and sweaty from the effort it took to heal me. He wipes his brow on the back of his hand, and looks upon me with a smile; I blush when his eyes seem to darken as they rake up and down my body.

“How 'ya feeling?” He asks in his adorable Will-voice. I move my arms, testing them out, and cracking the joints.

“Good as new.” I say, looking up at him with a smile as I sit up in the red-stained sheets. He sighs in relief, before biting his lip.

“Uhh. I-I have to ask…” He looks down, suddenly nervous. Scratching the back of his neck, he continues the thought. “Aren’t those pants uncomfortable? All… you know… covered in blood?” He asks me sheepishly. A blush creeps its way onto my face.

“Uhh… yeah.” I say. He looks to me with a nervous smile.

“How would you like a different pair?” He asks cheekily, and despite my blush I giggle. Even after me nearly dying, this guy can bring out laughter from the deep depths of who-knows-where-my-sense-of-humor-is. Anyway, I shrug.

“Yeah, actually…” I say quietly, feeling self conscious about Will seeing… well, me. He smiles and reaches into a drawer, producing a pair of black sweats.

“They should fit-” he says, throwing the pants to me.

“Thanks.” I say, before absent-mindedly stripping off my bloody pants and leaving me just my ripped boxers. I look up to see Will staring at me, a bright blush covering his cheeks. He looks up when he notices that I caught him staring, and his blush darkens even more.

“S-sorry…” He stutters. I look him over. He’s still looking at me as if he’s under a trance, and it’s honestly pretty strange. Until I notice something.

His pants are… uh… tightening. A noticeable bulge has started to grow in his jeans, and I can’t believe it. Will Solace is getting turned on my me changing my pants. I throw the sweatpants away, the need to get dressed forgotten. I nervously twist the skull ring on my finger at I look at him.

And now I’m getting turned on my him biting his lip.

And him trying to discreetly crack his knuckles.

And his crazily messed up hair that I just want to run my finger through as he fucks me-

And now I’m walking towards him. And now we’re kissing. Gods, this is not just a kiss. It has to be some magic gift or something from Aphrodite.

His lips are so soft and warm, it’s like pressing my mouth to a cloud of steam. My tongue pushes tentatively into his mouth, not quite sure what to do, but apparently doing it right because Will sighs and pushes his hand into my black wavy hair. He pulls back just for a second, his eyes clouded with a list that makes my already impressive boner that much harder. His swollen lips may also be a contributing factor.

“You’re supposed to be healing-” he says as I start kissing his neck. I follow my instincts on what to do; biting softly and then harder at some places; eliciting animalistic moans from him that make me want to come right then and there. “Nico, you just almost died…” He protests weakly between moans.

“But I’m fine now, thanks to you.” I reply between kisses, my hands under his shirt and sliding it over his head.

His own are running over my already bare chest; they trace the indentations of my pecs and my light abs, (the beginnings of what I hope will turn into a fabulous six-pack.) down to my prominent 'V’ line.

I keep kissing his neck and collar bone, at one point biting and sucking so hard I’m sure it will leave a sizable hickey; not that I care. It just shows everyone that this man is mine.

“Fuck, Solace…” I breathe the words as he palms my erection through my boxers, the thin fabric not leaving much to the imagination.

“Okay, just wait a sec.” He says back sassily as I begin to undo his belt, eventually slipping it out of its’ loops and pulling off his jeans. My cock twitches when I see him almost completely bare.

Gods, he is perfect.

“Nico Di fucking Angelo.” He breathes. “How did I end up here?” He laughs, and I smile, his tented underwear calling me to pull it off and take what’s inside.

“Dunno, but I’m glad it happened.” I say, throwing all control out the window and pushing him up against the wall, pressing our hips together and a sharp moan escaping my lips. I recapture his swollen lips and use one hand to pin Will’s hands over his head on the wall, and use the other to pull off his underwear.

I look down for just a moment to admire the fucking gorgeous cock of Will Solace. It has to be at least eight inches…

eight inches of Apollo-bore heaven.

“You’re so beautiful” I say to him as I start touching him, electing little gasps and grunts from him with each flick of my wrist. I run my thumb slowly over the slit, catching beads of precum on it as it glides over. He breathes heavily and smirks, looking me in the eyes.

“You have no- ah! Fuck!-” he moans in the middle of his sentence, to my satisfaction, when I give him a hard pump. “i-idea how much I want to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk for days-” he says breathily, pushing my hand off his cock and flipping us so that my back is now against the wall, and I can feel his hot, aroused breath on my face.

Just the words coming out of his mouth make me want to moan, so when he licks and kisses all the way down to the tip of my dick, you can guess how I felt. He looks up at me for a moment, silently asking permission. I nod, and he puts my head in his mouth.

Just the feeling of it makes me moan his name.

“W-Will!” I pant, my hands buried in his hair as he bobs his head, and I thrust along with him. He takes all eight and a half inches at some points, and I have to resist thrusting my whole length down his throat. “fuck…” I moan again as he swirls his tongue around the shaft, before leaving me right on the edge when he lets me go with a string of spit connecting my cock with his lips.

“I want to finish with you.” He says, and I nod, hard as it is… then, I smile.

“Sorry, what do you want me to do?” I ask him, feigning ignorance. He raises an eyebrow.

“I think you know.” He says, running his hands down my body, causing me to shiver.

I shake my head.

“No, I think you need to tell me.” I say to him, and he smiles, catching on. He shoots me a dirty look that has precum leaking out of me, and a moan leaving my lips.

“I want to come together. I want to see you moan my name when you come because of me. I want to feel your body under me as you jack me off. I want to fuck you, but not yet. Next time, when we aren’t in a hospital-” he winks. “You are fucking mine.” He says, before taking my hand, trailing it down to his cock, before taking mine in his own hand.

Soon, both Will and I are balanced on the edge. I’m panting from the buildup, and then-

“Fuck… FUCK! WILL! Gods-” I say as I come all over Will’s fist, him doing the same soon after.

We collapse on the bed, both panting and in a euphoric post-orgasm bliss.

“So… next time we won’t be in a hospital, right?” Will asks me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Nope.” I say. Oh man… I can’t wait for next time…

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #solangelo fic #solangelo smut

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